


Unexpected - (Solas/Ellya Lavellan drabbles)

by Calyah



Series: Unexpected [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:10:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3071045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calyah/pseuds/Calyah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little drabbles and ficlets about Solas and Ellya Lavellan during the time of Inquisition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellya no longer feels alone.

“Just give me a minute.”

Ellya Lavellan bounced her weight back and forth on her heels and suppressed a smirk. She couldn’t help but find amusement in the situation and in Varric’s aggravated tone. The dwarf was muttering obscenities and swatting Cassandra’s hands away, all while trying very hard to harvest a good sample from the iron node in front of him.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” came the Seeker's reply, no less irritated in return.

Smothering her smile with her hand, Ellya continued to watch her new allies, reminded of the inexhaustible, and sometimes entertaining, bickering of the friends she had left when she had been sent to the Chantry conclave. They were a mismatched group, this dwarf, human, and two elves, vastly different from any Dalish she knew, and yet if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine she was back with her clan.

Shaking her head with a chuckle, Ellya leaned against the ragged surface of the cliff wall at her back, and let her attention drift away from the squabbling pair. It had only been a few weeks since she had stepped from the Fade, inexplicably spared in the explosion that destroyed all others at the conclave, and she was adjusting as best she could. She didn’t speak much with the soldiers and villagers at Haven, too uncomfortable with their murmured and awed declarations about her prophetic survival. So, she mostly kept to herself, seeking only so often the company of her strange new allies. She knew she would have to become more acquainted with them if she wanted to help them close the Breach and stop the power responsible for its creation, but such relations with strangers did not come easily for the Dalish. Still, she was making an effort, and their new and sometimes tedious explorations of the Hinterlands, with the numerous Fade rifts, demons, and bandits they were encountering, were providing her with more and more opportunities to gain and give her trust.

Those explorations were trying, though, Ellya thought with a grim expression before returning her gaze to her companions, and the Hinterlands were certainly much larger and required much more work than she had anticipated when Scout Harding had given them her initial report. Yet, these small moments of respite in their weeks of travel, when she was allowed to step back and simply watch and get to know her new allies better, soothed her soul and alleviated some of her stress. She was sure the feeling would be fleeting, as some new rift would open or another unforeseen threat would be waiting for them around the next bend, but she would enjoy it while she could.

Standing at the mouth of the small tunnel they had found themselves in, wonderfully not too far from one of their recently-established camps, Ellya surveyed the open valley below. It, like so many of the scenic vistas they had stumbled upon in the Hinterlands, was breathtaking. Green grasses and blossoming wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze, blanketing the ground beneath the evergreens and tall expanses of stone that jutted haphazardly from the earth. This was a much better place to be than Haven, Ellya thought, away from the cold walls of the Chantry and biting winds. This felt more like home.

Spotting Solas crouching over the ground a small distance away, Ellya pushed herself off the cliff wall and picked her way slowly down the rocky path. She had begun a tentative but friendly rapport with the elf over the past few weeks, asking him about his travels and the fascinating things he had seen in his dreams, and had even found herself sharing her own experiences in return. Walking closer to him, Ellya realized he was in the process of plucking several sprigs of Elfroot from a crowded thicket.

Smiling, she bent down next to him.

“Care for some help?” she asked, holding out her hand.

“Ma serannas, lethallan,” Solas said with an easy smile, passing the herbs he had already picked into her outstretched hand, before bending over the thicket to gather more.

“It’s nice to hear that.”

Ellya realized that must have been a strange response by the quirk of Solas' brow, so she quickly explained.

“The Elvish, I mean. It’s a nice change of pace from all that ‘Herald of Andraste’ business. Sometimes, I think these people forget that I'm an elf and don’t share their beliefs.”

Solas let out a mirthless chuckle.

"Sometimes, I think they are too aware of it."

Ellya didn't get a chance to press him on what he meant. Varric and Cassandra were striding down to them, still grumbling, with the iron samples tucked neatly in pouches at their sides.

"Are you ready to keep going?" Cassandra asked as she and Varric stopped near the crouching pair.

“Yes,” Ellya said in reply and stood up, before looking to Solas, “unless, of course, you were not finished.”

“No, it's fine,” Solas said, tucking the herbs he carried into his satchel and dusting off his hands. “I am sure there will be more than enough Elfroot for us to plunder as we make our way.”

Ellya chuckled, shifting her gaze across the valley and seeing at least a half a dozen more patches of the plant. The apothecary back at Haven, at least, would be pleased by how abundant it seemed to be in these parts of Thedas, and no doubt the healing potions that would be concocted with it would prove useful.

Settling into an easy pace, the four companions made their way down the path. Occasionally, they ran across a stray bandit or three, but the valley seemed mostly to be devoid of life. Ellya wanted to dismiss that as a quirk of the location, but it still seemed somewhat strange. She shifted her eyes to Solas, as he walked next to her. Unfortunately, he seemed to be just as aware of the unsettling atmosphere as she.

“El'an ma harel,” Ellya murmured softly to him.

Solas nodded his head.

“Vir dareth'din.” he said as his eyes cast around warily.

“Care to share with the rest of the class, or is this an elf thing?" Varric's words were said with a laugh, but she could tell that even he was looking at their surroundings with a nervous air.

“I find it strange that we haven’t encountered much wildlife.” Ellya said, ignoring the twinge of homesickness she felt at having to explain her Elvish conversation. She knew that closing the Breach was their most important objective, and that with that meant working with varied peoples from all nations, but the reality of the situation still stung. She was Clan Lavellan’s First, and being away from them for so long did not feel right.

Stopping her steps, Ellya cocked her head to the side and listened. She had lived her whole life in the wilds and had hardly ever known it to be so silent, so still. In her experience, such a thing usually served as a warning from Andruil that something terrible was coming. She glanced around warily, urging her eyes to see the source of the growing unease.

"Is it magic, Solas? A spirit perhaps?" Cassandra whispered.

"No, it..."

Solas cut off his own words when a rhythmic whooshing sound reached their ears.

They barely had time to turn their gazes to the sky when, with an ear-piercing screech and a large gust of wind, a massive golden dragon soared directly over their heads, just missing them with its sharp talons and the huge spread of its wings.

"Shit!" Varric cursed, scrambling to bring his crossbow, Bianca, to the ready.

Ellya choked back a scream and stumbled at the sight of the large beast. She had never even seen a dragon before. She had heard legends, of course, all Dalish had them, and she had a reasonable idea as to how to deal with one, but in all her wildest imaginings, she would never have guessed that she would see one in the flesh, and certainly wasn't thrilled about doing so at the moment.

Solas' hand taking hold of her arm brought her from her thoughts. The dragon was circling back towards them, the first tendrils of flame hovering at the edge of its massive jaws.

"Run!" Cassandra shouted, springing them into action.

Solas' tight grip on her arm urged her towards a large outcropping several lengths away, Varric and Cassandra running close at her back.

When they were just about to reach the shelter of the rocks, an intense flash of heat roared to life in front of them, almost rendering Ellya blind from its white-hot intensity. Smoke and ash flew into the air, skewing their view of the landscape, and another loud screech sounded, followed closely by a shuttering crash.

With her elven eyesight, Ellya could just make out the shape of the dragon through the billows of smoke and charring trees. She realized with a groan that it had landed on the small slope in front of the tunnel, their only known escape from the valley.

"No," she whispered, even as she felt Solas tug on her again.

"Quickly, lethallan!" His hurried words snapped her to attention, and she rushed to follow him away from the flames and towards a nearby low hill. Throwing herself over its top and rolling down, Ellya gasped and pushed herself flat against the ground.

“She’s cut off our retreat,” Cassandra said with an exasperated pant.

“That can’t be the only way out. The land’s full of those hidden tunnels.” Varric swung his eyes to the valley walls in the distance behind them, seeming to search for imperfections in the stone that Ellya supposed only a dwarf could see. Still, he did not make a move to break away from the small hill they huddled behind.

“No,” Solas whispered fiercely, “she will sense us if we run. Perhaps one alone could remain undetected, but a dragon’s eyes are too keen for us evade her completely.”

Ellya’s mind worked furiously. This couldn’t be it. There had to be some way out of the situation if they couldn’t rely on stealth. Peeking surreptitiously over the top of the hill, Ellya watched the dragon pace around the tunnel’s opening, occasionally lifting its huge nostrils into the air to sniff out their location, momentarily lost to it in the tufts of smoke. Clenching her jaw, she made up her mind.

“Then we need to fight,” she said, turning towards her companions and gripping her staff tighter.

All three pairs of eyes snapped to her face and a beat of silence passed around them.

“What?!” Cassandra hissed.

“Sorry, kindling,” Varric said, using the pet name she hated and looking at her like she had grown another head. “I’m all for heroically tragic tales, but I’d rather not star in them.”

Solas just peered at her quietly, before glancing over the top of the hill.

“Lavellan is right,” he said after a moment, moving to crouch next to her. “This dragon is young, massive certainly, but most likely inexperienced. We may be formidable enough to match it.”

Ellya gave him a quick smile. She wasn’t sure if she felt better that someone else had agreed to her insane plan. Although it had been her suggestion, the thought of fighting a full-grown dragon filled her stomach with dread. She just didn’t see another way.

Cassandra was silent, contemplating perhaps. Ellya knew that the warrior would have to be the one that engaged the beast directly. So, she did not begrudge her hesitation. Besides, she thought she remembered her mentioning something about coming from a family of dragon hunters. Maybe she was already formulating the best method of attack.

“You’re both crazy,” Varric muttered in disbelief.

Ellya put what she hoped was a reassuring hand on his arm.

“We need you, Varric. Cassandra will have to remain mostly behind her shield while she’s drawing the dragon’s attention, and I,” she paused, not sure if what she was going to say next would convince him to help or rather affirm his desire to run away, “…I’m not certain of how effective my spells will be.”

As she suspected he might, the dwarf opened his mouth to argue, but Solas cut him off.

“Dragons are born with certain, innate affinities,” he explained. “Judging from the wall of flames that welcomed us, we can only assume that fire is this dragon’s element of choice.” He glanced briefly at her before continuing. “Lavellan’s magic should still be able to harm it, but it would be better for our odds of survival if you agree to help.”

Varric grumbled a curse to the sky, clearly showing his apprehension. Ellya was pretty certain, though, that the dwarf was not the kind of person who could walk away so easily, leaving them to die.

“Alright,” he finally said, while turning to Cassandra, “but you owe me big, Seeker. Don’t think I’ll forget.”

“I’m sure you wont,” she muttered in reply.

They didn’t have further time to argue, as another piercing screech filled the air and a loud rumbling shook the ground below them. The dragon, it seemed, had caught their scent.

With one last nod to her companions, Cassandra leapt over the top of the hill, a haunting battle cry leaving her lips.

Solas quickly followed after her, casting a strong barrier spell for protection, before ducking to the side to position himself at the dragon’s flank.

Ellya ran after him, spreading out in the opposite direction and perching at the edge of a tall boulder to hopefully keep out of the dragon’s line of sight.

“All right, let’s do this,” Ellya whispered to herself and gripped her staff tighter. It was time to put her trust in her new allies, as well as their own in her, to the test. She could see Varric scrambling up a rocky expanse, presumably to put himself at a better vantage point to pepper the beast with his bolts. Cassandra, meanwhile, had succeeded in getting the dragon’s attention, pulling around to put its back to the rest of the party and to hopefully keep them safe from its flaming breath. Solas she couldn’t see, hidden as he was on the opposite side of the beast’s gargantuan form, but she could feel his signature barrier humming solidly around her form.

Ellya threw a quick immolation spell across the dragon’s front leg, hoping to disable it, before she bombarded it with icy pulses from her staff. She figured if she could weaken its extremities then perhaps they could get it into a position more vulnerable to their attacks.

The battle, surprisingly, seemed to progress well, and Ellya felt some of her nervousness begin to fade away. Varric was lodging bolts into the soft places of the dragon’s hide with excellent accuracy, while Cassandra kept its attention and Solas kept them all alive. Ellya found her natural ability with fire spells to actually be a blessing. Sure, they did not do as much damage, but they also seemed to prevent the dragon from noticing her, allowing her to whittle away at its defenses in relative peace, only having to dodge an errant fireball once or twice.

She should have known their luck would not hold out.

Just when Ellya thought they were significantly weakening the beast, it let another a deafening roar and took back to the sky. Of course, the companions shook off their momentary surprise and made for the entrance of the tunnel as quick as their feet could take them. No one made it more than two paces, though, before several high-pitched wails reached their ears and three wyverns crested the hill to attack.

“Get behind me!” Cassandra shouted and ran forward, still a good distance from the rest of the party.

Ellya tried her best to scramble between some tall evergreens and make her way to the protection of Cassandra’s shield and heavily armored body, but she only got a few steps away from the trees when she felt something sharp slash across her right leg, stealing her breath and throwing her to the ground with a painful thud.

“Lavellan!”

She heard her name shouted above the sounds of fighting, but she couldn’t be sure of the voice, mingled as it was with the cries and gnashing of their new foes. She could only really be sure of the searing pain she felt coming from her thigh and the blood seeping into her clothes. Pushing it as best she could from her mind, Ellya quickly scrambled to her elbows and gripped her staff in both hands to deal with the creature at her back.

Just as she made to get up, the wyvern was on her again, leaping to push her further into the ground.

With a grunt and a twist of her body, she pushed her staff against the creature’s strong flesh, trying to keep its teeth from her neck. She drew on everything she could to will lightening from her fingers, hoping she could shock and distract it enough to get away. Thankfully, her plan worked as intended. The wyvern reared back, allowing her just enough space to back away several paces, and put more force behind her spell. Just as the beast seemed to be recovering, a slow frost crept over its form, freezing it solid, and a massive arrow lanced through its skull, leaving nothing but icy pieces shattered in the dirt.

Not wasting time, Ellya exchanged a quick nod of thanks with Varric and Solas and turned to aid Cassandra.

Unfortunately, just as she tapped the bottom of her mana stores by placing a final immolation spell, killing one of the two remaining beasts, their retreat was cut off once again, the battered dragon landing with a vicious roar in their path.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Varric shouted in exasperation, putting one more feathered bolt into Cassandra’s last target, causing it to flail to the ground in death.

Ellya shared his despair, clutching her staff and fighting to keep the pain in her leg at bay. However, glancing at the bruised and dirt-smudged faces of her companions, she knew they had little choice in what to do.

“We can do this,” Ellya said fervently, willing them to believe her words, even as the dragon roared at them and began to advance. She was going on nothing more than instinct, as she had certainly never fought anything nearly as formidable as a dragon before, but she knew she had to make her allies trust in themselves and their abilities if they wanted to pull through. It was a lesson she remembered well from the harsh life she had lead with her clan, protecting and leading them as best she could as their First.

Cassandra looked at her briefly and nodded, a determined glint entering her eyes.

“Maker protect me,” the Seeker half-whispered before running towards the dragon once again, another battle cry leaving her lips.

Ellya, Solas, and Varric sprung into action after that. Catching a flask that Solas tossed her way, Ellya downed the liquid lyrium and made to fan out as she had done before. She was slower this time, each step agony despite the adrenaline coursing through her, but she eventually reached a defensible position along the dragon’s flank.

Swing after swing of her staff, she fought, throwing as many spells as she could at the beast, lightening, fire, and even the ever-elusive ice coming to her aid from her deepest memories of learning to master her magic. Together, they gave everything they had, Ellya’s spells, Varric’s bolts, and Cassandra’s sword and shield, while Solas ran the battlefield drawing on energies from the Fade and producing magical barriers to press their advantage.

It seemed an eternity had passed from when they had first engaged the beast, but eventually, with one last swing of Cassandra’s sword to its neck, the bloodied dragon toppled to the earth.

Ellya didn’t move for a moment, too stunned by the sight of the bleeding beast and the feel of the massive shockwave it had produced when it fell. It seemed her companions felt the same, no one shifting a muscle, as if in disbelief that they had actually succeeded in their goal.

Soon, though, the sound of Varric’s increasingly loud laughter broke through.

“Hot damn!” he said through the biggest grin Ellya had ever seen on his face. “You really like to press your prophet luck, don’t you, kindling? If I had known I’d be inspired to such bouts of insanity, I’d have stayed in Kirkwall.”

“Stop calling me that,” Ellya admonished, though with barely any effort. She, too, couldn’t fight the giddiness that was starting to consume her.

“You lead us to an impressive feat, Herald,“ Cassandra said a bit more solemnly, “Insanity or not.”

Chuckling, Ellya leaned into her staff.

“I’ll try not to make it a habit, insisting we fight every dragon we find.”

She continued to laugh, feeling an almost light-headed joy at their accomplishment. They had defeated a dragon. A dragon!

Her smiled faded, though, when she noticed Solas looking at with a frown. Her brow furrowed when she realized that he was staring, hard, at her legs. Remembering the wyvern that had attacked her, Ellya immediately felt the pain she had forgotten in the moment of their triumph come rushing back.

“You are injured,” Solas said seriously, making his way towards her.

At his words, Varric and Cassandra turned their eyes towards her and looked at her body more closely.

“No more than any of you,” Ellya said, trying to shift their focus and downplay their concern. It wasn’t much of a lie, either, as they were all pretty battered and bruised. Cassandra, especially, looked ready to collapse. Still, she moved her staff in front of her right leg in an attempt to disguise the blood she could feel sticking to the fabric of her outer robes.

Solas looked at her skeptically, stopping only a short distance away, but Cassandra and Varric seemed to be pacified, not doubt cataloguing their own aches and pains.

“Regardless,” Solas said after a moment, addressing the other two but still keeping his eyes on her, “Lavellan and I should rest here for a moment to regain our mana. It is impossible to endure such a fight without going deep into one’s stores.”

Ellya wanted to be irritated at his assuming words, but she couldn’t disagree.

“Yes,” she replied, gingerly sinking herself down into the grass, “I wouldn’t mind a minute to gather myself.”

Solas turned to the Seeker.

“Cassandra, perhaps it would be wise if you returned to camp. No doubt we will require the aid of several troops to dismantle the corpse and bring its components back to Haven in tact.”

“Agreed,” Cassandra said with a nod of her head and one more look to the gigantic beast that lay slain at their feet. “Come, Varric, I do not think you will need your usual embellishments when you tell this tale.”

Varric let out a loud bark of laughter.

“For once, Seeker, you might be right,” he said with a chuckle, starting to make his way towards the tunnel.

Ellya watched them go, a small, happy smile on her face. She was infinitely glad, even if she didn’t know the dwarf or the woman too well, that they had all come out of the fight alive and relatively unscathed. She turned to face Solas when she noticed him moving to crouch beside her. Once again, he was staring at her leg.

“Let me see,” he demanded softly, a worried edge to his voice.

With a sigh, Ellya stretched her leg out and pushed the outer layer of her robes apart, wincing in her effort. Solas’ frown deepened when he took in the sight of the breeches that covered her right leg. They were matted with blood and torn open around her thigh. She could see the swollen edges of what looked to be three large gashes peeking through the material, but she looked away before she could take in too many details. She didn’t think seeing the full extent of her wound would make the pain any better.

“I'll be fine. I just shouldn’t have tried to turn my back and run.” Ellya sighed, frustrated with herself. “The hunters in my clan would call me careless and never let me live down such a potentially costly mistake.”

Solas just snorted before he settled himself next to her and pulled out a small dagger.

“One glance at the corpse over there and they would be dissuaded from such an opinion,” he said with a small smile, reaching to gather the torn fabric of her pant leg in his hands. Within a few moments, he had cut the tattered material away. Putting his dagger aside, Solas pulled her now bare leg into his lap and started to examine her wound.

“These are not serious, but they are deep and will require more healing draughts than we currently possess.”

Ellya winced both at his words and at the feeling of his fingers prodding around the puffy and jaggedly torn flesh across her thigh, gentle as he tried to be.

“However,” Solas continued, stopping his ministrations momentarily to reach for something in a pouch at his side, “I will tend to them as best and as quickly as possible. And I will do what I can to lessen your pain.”

Ellya closed her eyes as she felt him start to work, gritting her teeth and trying to forget about the sharp stabs of pain and blood drying in smears across her leg. It was not her first injury, and it would certainly not be her last.

“You are proving yourself to be quite the figure of inspiration, lethallan,” Solas said after a few moments.

Opening her eyes, Ellya looked at him in confusion.

“And what exactly did I do that was so inspiring?” she asked, again clenching her jaw as he wrapped a poultice around a particularly tender spot.

“Varric and Cassandra believe you to be the Herald of Andraste,” Solas said, the tone of his voice indicating that what he was saying should have been obvious to her, “and once again you provided them with hope in their time of need. Do you think they would have so readily put their lives at risk if not for your presence and encouraging words?”

Ellya fought against the urge to roll her eyes.

“You give me too much credit,” she said. “We won the fight together. I just said what needed to be done, because there was no other way out. Any half-trained First would have done the same.” She turned to look at him with a mischievous smirk. “Besides,” she continued, “I could put the blame just as much on you, as I seem to remember a certain elf immediately giving his own support to my ‘encouraging words’.”

Solas laughed at that, his work on her thigh ceasing momentarily.

“Yes, a foolish and dangerous thing to do in hindsight,” he said and turned his head to look at her with a playful expression, “but I cannot find it within myself to regret such a decision. It allowed me to witness the more heroic facets of your personality, a truly enjoyable side benefit, even if you so vehemently deny their existence.”

Was he teasing her? Lightly flirting, maybe? The corner of Ellya's lips pulled up in a smile at the thought. It was nice to relax with someone like she used to be able to do with her clan, and to see the elf beside her let his guard down a bit. He seemed so awfully serious all the time, which, she supposed, was understandable given their circumstances. Still, she was happy to get at least a glimpse of his more light-hearted side.

They settled into companionable silence after that. Solas continued to slowly and carefully dress her wound, pressing tightly every so often to staunch some errant bleeding, while Ellya tried to distract herself from the pain by letting her gaze wander over everything in the valley save for her leg.

“So, do you have much experience with dragons?” Ellya asked after a few moments.

A curious look entered Solas’ eyes, but it was gone before she could identify what it was.

“Some,” he answered, “mostly through the memories of others I have walked in the Fade, but I have occasionally encountered them in the flesh. Never before have I fought with one, though.” He looked at her with a smirk, but something about his expression seemed sad. “I have spent much of my time alone. Not exactly ideal for battling mythical beasts.”

“Do you think you could teach me to enter the Fade as you do,” Ellya asked, giving voice to the desire she had harbored since he had first spoken of his ability. “Could I become a Dreamer?

Solas looked at her in shock.

“You would desire such a thing?” His voice was soft, seemingly genuinely surprised that she would wish to become like him.

“How could I not?” she countered. “The Dalish have a few tales about Dreamers, saying that long ago, it was a gift common to Arlathan, but is now only bestowed upon a rare few. Besides, you seem to have seen so many wonderful things in your dreams, experiencing history in such a unique way. It would mean a lot to me to have the same opportunity.”

Solas just peered at her, seemingly in thought, before dipping his head in a slow nod.

“You are an elf and a mage so it should certainly be possible. I will think on how best to approach it when we return to Haven.”

“Thank you,” Ellya said. She meant it earnestly. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the history she could experience if Solas taught her to walk the Fade like he did, to lucidly stroll through memories thought lost to time, and the possibilities filled her with glee. Perhaps she could even reclaim some of the ancient knowledge of the Elvhen if she dreamed in the right places and with the right intent.

“You possess a very unique spirit, Lavellan,” Solas said after a moment, a small smile on his lips and a strange hint of pride in his voice.

“Oh?” Ellya replied softly, suddenly becoming very aware of just how close they were to each other, her leg resting bare in his lap and Solas’ hands working gently on the inside of her thigh. She couldn’t help the spread of a blush across her cheeks.

“Yes, in the short time we have spent together, you have shown yourself to be powerful but not a thuggish brute, curious but not blindly and childishly grasping for any straw of knowledge. You are so unlike a typical Dalish, and I find that fascinating.”

Ellya's eyes narrowed at that, her cheeks becoming heated for a different reason.

"Really?" she said flatly, trying unsuccessfully to keep the irritation from her voice. "You sound so sure of your opinion. Have you ever truly met many Dalish?"

"Have you?" Solas countered. "I mean no offense, but how often have you traveled beyond the scope of your own clan? How can you be so sure of the qualities possessed by those you call your people?"

Ellya opened her mouth in an indignant scowl. She was not some barefaced da'len, naively believing every fancy tale spun around the campfire, and she would not be condescended to.

"And you speak of the Dalish as if we are some single entity, thrashing around savagely in the dark. I have been to the Arlathvhen twice in my years, and I know the Elvhen to be as different from one another as any of the races in Thedas. But we are united in our purpose, and it is a good one. Do not dismiss your own kind so readily."

Solas just stared at her after that, as if stunned that she so vehemently disagreed with his beliefs, but soon his expression became thoughtful.

"Thank you," he said softly, genuinely. "I truly meant to compliment you when I said that you were unique, but perhaps my attempts were too clumsy. You have given me something to think on, and I value that greatly."

It was Ellya's turn to be stunned. She had not expected him to back down so quickly, as used as she was to the unsavory opinions the Dalish seemed so often to inspire. True, he hadn’t exactly apologized, but it was a start. Slowly, she felt her ire melting away, replaced once more by the easy manner that normally existed between them. Despite their disagreement, she couldn't find it in herself to dislike the elf in front of her. Something about him challenged her, pushing gently at the edges of her beliefs, and that intrigued her. Smiling to rid herself of the last of her irritation, Ellya placed a gentle hand on his, briefly stopping his work on the bandage around her thigh.

"Yes, well," she chuckled lowly, "get me back to camp without my leg falling off, and I will value that greatly."

Solas laughed in response and finished swirling the ends of the cloth into a secure knot.

“That I can promise you,” he said, carefully lifting her leg out of his lap and getting to his feet. “I applied a special poultice to numb the pain. You should at least be able to stand.”

Ellya smiled with a nod of thanks, and pushed herself to her feet as best she could. The pain was indeed lessened by whatever concoction Solas had used on her wound, and she would have to question him thoroughly about that later, but she still leaned heavily into her staff to keep herself upright.

Solas peered at her thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes traveling up and down her form. Against her will, Ellya found herself blushing again under his gaze, an occurrence that irritated her to no end. Thirty years was too old for her to have such girlish reactions to a simple look. Before she had time to think about it too much, though, Solas had stepped forward and wrapped a strong arm around her waist, pulling her gently to his side in support.

Gripping his own staff, he urged them forward.

“Let us depart. Your limp may delay us a while in reaching the camp,” he paused to hitch his arm up around her shoulder blades and hold her more securely, “but I would rather not risk the Seeker’s wrath if I let more harm befall her Herald by remaining here too long.”

Ellya laughed and trudged ahead, her own arm hooking across the back of Solas’ shoulders in return.

“Just Cassandra’s little herald to you, huh?” she teased, playfully nudging his hip with her own.

Solas stopped walking almost instantly, looking down at Ellya with a furrowed brow and a searching look. She could barely breathe under such an intense stare.

“No, falon,” he finally said softly, his gaze shifting back to the path ahead, before urging them forward again.

Ellya felt a smile spread across her lips.

Friend.

As she slowly made her way along, she and Solas both silent in their task, she felt the faint blossoming of something deep and unexpected in her chest. For the first time since she had walked out of the Fade and into the chaotic mess that was the Inquisition, she felt hope, and glancing one more time to the elf beside her, she no longer felt so alone.


	2. Struck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vulnerable moment and an unexpected revelation.

Solas stared out across the snowy mountainside that housed Haven and let his gaze linger over the Inquisition’s makeshift headquarters, barely noticing the steady rise of the sun at his back that marked the beginning of a new day. The small village was starting to bustle along in its morning routine, but the sight passed before him in a blur. He could not focus on such minutiae. Too many divergent thoughts occupied his mind as of late: his situation, his companions, his choices. So much had gone wrong already that he could not have predicted, least of all being made to join an upstart organization that stood in such unintended opposition to the powers of Thedas. The reality was not unpleasant, and neither were his tentative allies, mostly, but it was unplanned. The Inquisition would serve its purpose, though, and he would guide them as quietly as he could, steering them to recover what was lost so he could try again. The steps would be small and many, but he would do what needed to be done. He had no other choice.

A loud crash echoed across the encampment, temporarily breaking him from his thoughts and refocusing his attention to the world around him. In curiosity, Solas turned towards the direction of the sound.

Surprise colored his expression at the sight that greeted him. Lavellan was storming away from what he could only assume to be the recently-slammed door of the Chantry, a scowl firmly planted on her face. He watched her angered form in confusion. She had not said so aloud, but he knew that she valued her composure in the face of all the strangers that surrounded her here. Sure, she did not shy away from voicing some of her more passionate opinions to her closer companions, himself included, but to see her so openly upset was troubling.

Solas continued to watch as she stormed her way past onlookers and around the back of the Chantry, presumably in search of some solitude. His right foot stepped forward, involuntarily intent on following her, but such an instinct made him pause.

The Elvhen woman intrigued him, true, but he could not understand why, not when so many other pressing matters should have occupied his thoughts instead. Yet, he continually found his mind returning to her, replaying the battles they had fought together and the enjoyable conversation they had shared in the few weeks they had known each other. He could not deny that she was physically appealing, with her softly curved form and gentle eyes, but he had encountered beauty before and such things usually inspired little consideration from him. He supposed it was her manner that piqued his interest most. He was so used, and somewhat embittered, to the rough countenance of the elves he had met when he awoke, either so arrogant in all that they got wrong about their own history or so uncaring as they carved their way in urban squalor. It hadn’t occurred to him that they could be anything else, but she was, and that disparity unnerved him and made him question, like an annoying puzzle that he couldn’t put aside.

Pushing the uncertainty from his mind, Solas let his foot continue its intended course and made his way through the snow to the back of the Chantry. He spotted her not far away from the building, standing under an old evergreen tree with fists clenched. Noticing several scorch marks in the earth, he approached her carefully.

“How can they be so blind? So insensitive?” she was muttering in a heated tone.

Solas decided it best to make his presence known quickly.

“Are you all right, lethallan?” he said, hesitating just beyond the boughs of the tree she had chosen as her refuge. He did not wish to intrude if she truly desired some solitude.

“No!” She rounded on him hotly, startling him with the intensity of her emotion, but her ire did not last long. Within a breadth of a moment, he saw her shoulders slump and she turned away from his gaze.

“I’m sorry, Solas,” she said quietly, “I don’t mean to lash out at you. I will be fine in a moment.”

Solas nodded his head and took in her form once again. Her breath was evening out, and she did indeed look to be calming, but the rigid set of her back and the curl of her fingers told him she was far from all right.

“What has provoked your anger so intensely? Some decision made at the war table perhaps?” he asked cautiously, hoping that she would open up to him. He didn’t want to dwell on why he wanted such a thing, as he knew his focus should have remained elsewhere, but he couldn’t deny such a desire existed all the same.

Lavellan looked at him again, seeming to think over his question and whether she should share her burdens with him or not. Soon, though, he saw her shoulders fully relax.

“I was talking with Josephine,” she started, glancing out to the snowy woods, “about approaching the rebel mages for help, and she mentioned to me that rumors were starting to swirl about me. About me being an elf and one of the Dalish.”

Ah. Solas was beginning to see where this was going. No doubt such rumors were slanderous to her, their, race.

“And the content of these rumors upset you.” He said it as a matter of fact. Judging by her heated words the last time he had unintentionally insulted her with his thoughts on the Dalish, he could only imagine her reaction when confronted with the true scope of human hatred for their kind.

“No,” she said immediately, throwing him off.

Solas said nothing, as he looked at her in mild shock and confusion, something that seemed to be occurring more and more often when he spoke with her. She had a way of unsettling him, and it was not entirely unpleasant.

“I mean, yes, of course, the rumors are unkind, and I fear for my people in the face of such hatred,” she continued with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I have always been at least somewhat aware of what others say about the elves, but, ultimately, those words come from strangers. It was something Josephine said herself that bothered me.”

Now that got Solas’ attention. He had known Lady Montilyet to always be so carefully diplomatic, treading the waters of social propriety with ease to keep those around her happy or for her own gains. It seemed strange that she would say something that would cause the woman in front of him to behave so out of character.

“And what exactly did our diplomatic advisor say?” he heard himself asking even while his mind churned in search of the possible explanations.

Lavellan’s face once again contorted in anger.

“She said that my clan…as if she would know anything at all about them…that they should be honored that history will know them for producing ‘The Herald of Andraste.’ That they should forget their anger at the title and realize that I ‘move in different circles’ now, like it was some decision of personal faith that I had come to on my own.” Her hand had curled around the trunk of the tree at her heated words, searing the edges of bark that lay beneath her fingertips.

Solas could see what Lady Montilyet had been trying to convey. She came from the perspective of political machinations, after all, doing and saying things in order to curry favor and give the Inquisition the power it required to close the Breach, as was their ultimate goal. However, he could also understand why such a sentiment could upset Lavellan so deeply.

“I am sure she meant no offense by her words,” he said after a moment, hoping to diffuse the angered mood of the woman in front of him.

Lavellan’s eyes flashed at that, though, telling him at once that he had not chosen the right thing to say. However, the look was quickly replaced by a sad smile and a nod.

“Yes, I know,” she said quietly. “She’s a good woman, and her contributions to our cause are invaluable. Really, it’s not about her. It’s that I feel so continually erased by so many, like who I am and the importance of my people and my beliefs mean nothing to my supposed allies.”

She took in a deep breath and then let it go in a slow sigh, an infinitely sad look overtaking her features. “Sometimes it feels as if these people don’t care about me beyond the power in my mark and the useful symbol I could become, despite my efforts to win their friendship, and that is upsetting.”

Lavellan turned to look at him directly then. “You say the Dalish are so thuggish, and you’re right about some, but all I have ever known from my clan is warm friendship and family. People who cared about what I thought and said, who looked at me like a person and not just as a tool to be used. My Keeper asked me to go to that conclave, because she understood the importance of the Chantry’s views and what they might mean for this world. It would be nice if my people were given the same consideration.” She paused and looked away from him, as if ashamed to have become so emotional.

“I know it’s an unlikely scenario,” she said, barely above a whisper, “but it’s still what I hope for.”

Solas could only be silent as he watched her and listened to her soft words. Her sadness and passion, and ultimately her quiet wisdom and kindness, moved him. She wanted so badly to improve the lot of their kind, a dream he certainly shared. Perhaps Seeker Cassandra was right. Perhaps her appearance from the Fade was some sort of divine providence, some work of fate to set the world right by bestowing upon it the kind of person they needed most.

No, Solas shook those thoughts from his head in disgust, he would not absolve his own guilt with such fanciful notions, despite his desire to believe that anything might be possible. Lavellan was simply a good person who possessed the right amount to talent to lead them through the mess he had created.

“I am trying very hard to work for the greater good,” Lavellan continued, breaking his mind from the darker path it had begun to travel. “I’m not a fool. I know the Breach is our ultimate priority, and to close it I must become something different than what I was before, but it’s tiring for who I am to be so casually dismissed much of the time, whether those who do so mean offense or not. ”

Solas nodded his head at her words., walking closer to her and ducking his head to enter the slight sanctuary provided by the tree’s branches. He understood her position, feeling acutely the ingrained prejudice uttered from the lips of those who should know better, or at least those who should be able to see the consequences of their words.

“Ellya,” he started and then paused. She had not given him explicit permission to address her by her name, and, while he had called her friend, he did not want to cross any invisible boundaries in their relationship. She was their tentative leader, after all. When she just looked at him expectantly and said nothing, he continued. “People are not simple. You have said so yourself when speaking of your observations at the Arlathvhen. But consider that perhaps those who dismiss what you are, do so because they must. That it is fear and not hatred that governs them. I would posit that it is less about you, and more about the doubts of faith that linger in their own hearts. A Dalish savior sent by elven gods would not be, for many, an easy thing to accept. So, they fashion you into an image they can understand.”

Solas watched her process his words and briefly considered reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder in comfort, but immediately rejected the idea. He was not acquainted with her well enough to know how she would accept such an act, and he, too, was fearful of allowing himself to develop any attachment to her beyond the battlefield camaraderie they had enjoyed thus far. Despite the deeper friendship his heart might desire, that was not his purpose here.

Still, Solas could not deny the slight warmth and elation that crept though him when she pushed away from the tree and wrapped her arms around him in a friendly embrace. He even allowed himself to briefly return the gesture.

“Thank you, Solas,” she mumbled against the worn fabric of his vest before pulling back. “I’m not used to feeling so unsure, not since long before receiving my vallaslin. It may take some time, but I promise I will learn how to deal with these new experiences and people, both good and bad. I appreciate you giving me your counsel.” She looked down quickly, as if embarrassed. “And I’m sorry for showing such a lapse in control. It’s not what a leader should do. All those people who saw…”

He quickly cut her off, not liking the direction her words were taking them.

“We are all slaves to our emotions from time to time. Do not dwell on it. I certainly think no less of you, and I hope you will do the same.”

Ellya smiled then, a small one, but it comforted him to be able to ease her melancholy if ever so slightly.

“I have been thinking on your request,” he said suddenly, hoping to steer their conversation towards more light-hearted matters than the racial struggles of Thedas.

“To become a Dreamer?” she said, her eyes filling with delight.

“Yes,” he continued, “and I believe I have found a solution. Would you meet me here after sundown tonight? It would be best to start when the mood is right. Slipping lucidly across the veil is, at least for me, most easily accomplished when sleep is not far from the edges of conscious thought.”

Ellya peered at him, her smile spreading across her face and melting away all traces of the sadness and anger he had encountered when he first approached her.

“I will,” she said and looked past him to the rocky exterior of the Chantry building. “I should probably go and try to patch things up with Josephine.”

He nodded to her once before she turned and started to make her way from under the tree’s branches.

Solas just watched her go, a warm smile of his own forming on his face. In that moment, he did not truly know if he would be able to keep his promise, to remain emotionally distant in the face of her eager and unintentionally entrancing ways. Perhaps it would not be such a bad idea, he reasoned. He could still get to know her better, without damaging the things he had set it motion. Surely, it would not change much for his ultimate goals. A friend by his side could not feasibly be so significant as to alter all that he had carefully planned.

No. The smile slipped from his face. That was dangerous thinking. He could not allow himself to be swayed so easily.

“Solas?” he heard her voice drift back to him just as she made to round the corner of the Chantry’s wall.

“Yes?” he said distractedly, unfocused by his own thoughts.

“I’m glad you’re here with me.”

And just like that he was struck. As he watched her disappear completely into the throngs of people now milling about, he wanted nothing more than to be consumed solely by his guilt and his pride in pursuit of his goals, but something else was clawing its way into to the edges of his being. He could not deny it, and he certainly did not believe he deserved it, but she was already there, under his skin and firmly entrenched in his thoughts, as much as he wished it were not so. There was no escaping her comforting presence, and he oddly found himself not even wanting to try. He would simply have to adjust and make things work with her in mind, his friend that he would fight with against their foes and protect, even if that meant protecting her from his own selfish desires.

With a sigh, Solas exited the small clearing and made his way back to his usual post near the apothecary. Tonight would be special, a rare opportunity to share his treasured pastime, but it would also be exhausting. He would need to prepare. As he worked and gave himself over to the Fade, he resolved himself to letting go of his thoughts about Ellya and the conflicting emotions they inspired, at least temporarily. There would be plenty of opportunity to ponder their burgeoning friendship at a later date. At present, there was work to be done, and if he noticed an occasional flash of familiar green eyes stealing its way across his mind, he fervently ignored it.


	3. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas struggles with indecision as Haven is attacked and Ellya's death seems inevitable.

She had done it. Ellya had closed the Breach. Solas knew it was a step in the right direction, albeit a small one. There was still so much to contend with, though, so much to do and account for. The orb. Her mark. Corypheus, now known as some sort of self-appointed Elder One.

Solas exhaled in a sigh as he looked down on Haven and the celebrations below, scanning the crowd for a familiar flash of dark auburn hair. Ellya had seemed haunted ever since they had returned from Redcliffe, touching people more than was usual, as if to reassure herself of their presence. It was no wonder, really, considering the deplorable future she had described to them in her debriefing, and he was almost certain there was much about that future she had chosen not to tell them. He could see it in her eyes, a new look of determination, a full realization of what could happen should they fail. Solas felt that same harrowing acutely. He knew exactly what was at stake, how the world could be ripped apart and nations destroyed. He had lived it before, was still living it, a result of his own error in judgment.

Regardless, he did his best to reassure Ellya and support her with her newfound information and perspective. She would need all the support she could get if they were to accomplish their goals, and he certainly did not shy away from the contact she pressed his way, even if at times it seemed an almost involuntary action of his body to respond to them.

No, he would not lie to himself. He knew full well what he was doing by giving in to his desire to return her friendly touches. It was not a compulsion, but a reckless and selfish decision that he could not regret. She fascinated him, pulled at his attention, and if she wanted to be closer, then he would respond in kind, at least to a point.

Scanning his eyes over the crowd merrily drinking, singing, and dancing, Solas smiled. He could not find her amongst them, but so much unbridled joy, even prematurely spent, was enjoyable to witness. It had been long since he had been a part of so much revelry, and even if he could not bring himself to join in, he still felt a sliver of happiness to at least be on its periphery. It reminded him of happier times long ago, when he was not so alone.

"I thought I saw you up here."

Solas felt his smile grow at Ellya's words. Turning his gaze from the scene below, he watched as she walked towards him, two mugs in her hands.

"It’s not healthy to isolate yourself so much," she said with a grin, holding out one of the mugs in offering.

Solas took the drink and closed his eyes, letting his nose linger on the smell of the spiced ale. He did not partake in such things often, at least not anymore, but perhaps tonight could be an exception.

“Observation offers its own rewards,” he said after taking a long draft of the liquid.

Ellya chuckled and sidled up next to him, turning her gaze to the merriment below.

“True,” she said before nudging him slightly with an elbow, “but it was your victory too. You should let people enjoy it with you. Offer some company. It’s not every day we get to celebrate.”

Solas just smirked and side-eyed her. Taking another sip of the beverage, he let his eyes linger on her smiling face. She was in remarkable spirits, so different than her recent mood. It would not be unseemly to play along and enjoy some levity, at least for one evening.

“Perhaps you are right,” he said and took another sip of his drink. “Your company would certainly outweigh the benefits of solitude.”

As he watched a slight blush creep across Ellya’s features, Solas smothered a triumphant grin into his mug. Friendly flirtations were harmless, he reasoned, a marvelous distraction.

Ellya let out a breathy laugh, her face breaking into a radiant smile despite her blush. Wrapping an arm around Solas’ waist, she brought her cup up to clack against his.

“Such a charmer,” she said and took another draft of her beverage. “It won’t get you out of the party, though.” She drew her arm away from his waist and gripped his hand. With a determined smirk, she tugged and took a step down to coerce him towards the boisterous crowd.

Solas laughed but did not allow himself to be moved.

“I would prefer to remain here, for the time being,” he said and held up his mug. “One wistful drink spent in dyadic companionship.” He looked down at her with a half-smirk. “After that, if you still desire we join the others, I shall be yours to command.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, Ellya took a step up to return to her position overlooking the encampment and wrapped her hands around her mug. She eyed him with a sidelong glance.

“You should be careful with your words, Solas,” she said, her usual affectionate teasing colored by a note of seriousness. “I might start to think you’re flirting with me on purpose.”

Solas could feel the tips of his ears warm at being so boldly called on his actions, but did not let it deter him.

“I simply enjoy seeing you smile,” he said truthfully. “You have not done enough of it as of late.”

The mirth slipped quickly from Ellya’s face. Turning her gaze down, she frowned and stared as she swirled the contents of her cup. Solas felt a pang of regret at his words. He did not want to be the cause of her lessened mood. Not tonight.

“Ellya,” he began, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“No, you’re right,” she said and bent to sit down on one of the rocky steps at their feet. Slowly, Solas followed suit and settled himself in a dry spot next to her.

“I didn’t tell you everything that I saw at Redcliffe,” she said after a moment, her voice quiet and sorrowful. Solas opened his mouth to offer her what little comfort he could or insist there was no need for her to share her experiences if she felt uncomfortable, but he held back his words. A part of him was keenly curious as to what else she had seen that had disturbed her so greatly.

She turned her gaze on him and raked her eyes over his face, scrutinizing his features intensely as if she were looking for something amiss. Whatever she was searching for, he could not tell.

“Solas, I saw you die,” Ellya finally whispered before turning away to stare back out across the celebratory night. “You, and Cassandra, and Leliana. You all sacrificed yourselves so that Dorian and I could return. You held off the demons for as long as you could, and right before the spell sent me back here, I saw you. You had been…” she trailed off and gripped her mug tighter, “Well, it was what it was. And as much as I try, I don’t think I will ever forget that sight.”

Solas was stunned. He could think of nothing to say in response. He had known that she had encountered his future self, but she had said nothing more and no one had pressed her. Giving his life for her and for a second chance to realize his goals was something he could imagine himself doing in such a situation. If it were the only solution to create the desired outcome, then it made logical sense. Clearly, though, she was deeply troubled by it.

“I am sorry you bore witness to such events,” Solas said after a moment of silence. His fingers picked at the wooden edge of his mug as he contemplated how best to respond. “Perhaps it is a gift,” he continued, as he turned his body to face hers and tried to catch her gaze again. “To be cognizant of the stakes for which you play. You are able to forge ahead no longer blind in your mantle of duty.”

Ellya sighed and leaned forward to rest her forearms across her knees.

“Yes,” she agreed with a nod of her head, “that's something, I guess. And seeing a glimpse into this Elder One's plans was invaluable.” She put her mug down on the step below her feet and pursed her lips together. “But Solas,” she said and took in a deep breath, “when I saw you lying there...what I felt..." Ellya turned her head towards the now clear night sky and wet her lips. "I don’t want to ever experience that again."

Solas’ brow furrowed. She might have seen a glimpse into the future, but she could not possibly know the true machinations that were at work, and what perils their journey would hold. The Breach was only the beginning, a small pebble along a riverbed in the grand scheme of things. He could not tell her falsehoods and pretend that they would all come out of what he had planned unscathed, least of all himself.

“Our purpose is a dangerous one, lethallan,” he said carefully and looked away from her face. “I cannot promise I will not die, but know that it is not in my immediate plans to do so.”

Nodding, Ellya moved her fingers and gestured to the dancing and singing crowd below.

“Strange as it may seem, I care about all these people, all those under the responsibility of the Inquisition and who look to me for guidance,” she said. “But, well, you mean something more to me, Solas. If…” she paused and closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, perhaps to calm the memories of that horrid future. When she opened them again, she turned to look at him with a resigned half-smile. "Please promise you’ll try to stay out of harm's way. At least for a little while."

Thoughts of his plans pushed aside, Solas felt his heart warm at her affection. That she cared so adamantly for his well-being stirred the familiar longing in him for the level of companionship that he had not enjoyed in many ages. Setting his mug down on the cool step at his side, Solas calmed his spirit and moved closer to her until they were angled side by side, their knees touching softly. Leaning towards her, he tentatively reached up and tucked a loose strand of her braid behind her ear.

"Ellya," he said quietly and let his finger trail briefly across the shell of her ear and down her jawline before pulling it back to his lap. "You express such kind sentiments that I am at a loss in finding an adequate response. However, I shall endeavor to do as you ask, so long as you attempt the same."

Ellya cocked her head and let out a warm laugh.

"Me? Stay out of harm’s way?" She rolled her eyes and pressed lightly on his shoulder with her own. "I don't think safety comes with the title these humans insist I wear." She bit her lip and grinned before wrapping her arm around his and pulling them both upright. "But maybe tonight we can pretend? Come dance with me please, unless you think that will be risking great bodily harm."

Solas laughed again at her humor and finally let himself be pulled down the stairs and towards the general gaiety of the crowd.

A loud round of whooping cheers rose through the ranks when Ellya dragged him onto the improvised dance floor, and he was reasonably sure he heard Sera yell something particularly offensive, but he gave them no mind. Solas only grinned as he watched Ellya gesture to the musicians. If she thought she was making him participate in a dreaded activity, then she was sadly mistaken, and he would gladly demonstrate to her just how wrong she was. Wrapping an arm firmly around her waist and gripping her hand solidly in his own, Solas pulled her towards him and made to start moving them quickly along with the spirited music.

“Attack! We’re under attack!”

The crowd and all movement stilled and the music died away, when the startled cry of attack and the ringing echoes of the warning bell blared across the encampment.

Ellya paused but a moment to scan the crowd, before she turned from Solas’ arms and sprinted to where he could see Cullen and Cassandra scurrying down the steps leading from the Chantry.

“Inquisition to arms! Forces approaching!” the commander called over the courtyard as soldiers hurried to form ranks and await orders.

Doing his best not to be distracted by the screams of frightened women and children as they ran to find shelter, Solas turned from the commander and Ellya and dashed through the snow to his quarters by the apothecary. Quickly, he rummaged through his belongings and slung his belt across his waist and his satchel over his shoulder, filling them as swiftly as he could with potions and his scant possessions. With a last glance around the room to make sure he had obtained the necessary supplies, Solas grabbed his staff from its place against the wall and exited the hut.

He took the steps two at a time and ran past the tavern, carefully pushing through the scared mob scrambling its way to the Chantry.

Solas spotted Cullen doling out orders at the main gate, and slowed his steps to take stock of the scene around him. Ellya was nowhere to be found.

“Lavellan,” Solas barked at the commander, “where is she?”

Cullen barely gave him notice, continuing his instructions to position archers along the steps and roofs.

“She is working the trebuchet,” he finally said, breezing past Solas to order a small handful of warriors to help the sick and elderly into the Chantry. “Samson and The Elder One are cresting the mountain as we speak. We need to deplete these Red Templar forces as much as possible before they arrive.”

Solas glanced at the open gate and paused. He felt at war with himself. So, it was Corypheus at last. Part of him wanted to simply flee, to disappear and find another means of regaining his orb, but a greater part knew that the Inquisition and Ellya were his best chance, at least until he could regain his full strength. The selfish and traitorously soft-hearted part of him, too, did not want to merely leave Ellya to whatever fate befell her at the hands of the approaching enemies.

With a frustrated grunt, Solas turned from Cullen and rushed through the open gates and into the training yard. Immediately, his eyes scanned the horizon and his mouth fell open at the sheer number of forces approaching. He had experienced his share of battle, and he knew a losing one when he saw it. Increasing his speed, Solas ran towards where he knew the trebuchet defenses stood. He needed to get to Ellya and get her, and the anchor, to flee. It was the only chance he had.

Rounding the last bend of Haven’s outer walls, Solas finally saw Ellya and the companions she had taken with her to the trebuchet. Blackwall was engaged with an abnormally large templar captain whose body was deformed with jutting protrusions of red lyrium. Varric and Ellya stood on the trebuchet platform, picking off enemies while Iron Bull protected them from below.

Extending his arm, Solas threw a barrier spell over Blackwall and sprinted towards the group. Quickly, he sent a wave of healing magic Iron Bull’s way and swung his staff to shoot icy bolts at the templars trying to flank them from the far side.

“To your left, Chuckles!” Varric shouted above the din, causing Solas to turn and quickly lunge out of the way of a templar’s blade.

Solas thrust his staff in the direction of the woman and sent a large surge of electricity through her form. It did not take long for her body to fall to the ground and not get up again. Dodging more blows, Solas made his way to the trebuchet and climbed up next to Ellya.

“I thought we talked about this, Solas. You made me a promise,” she quipped with a small laugh, as she set a mark of immolation on the captain Blackwall was parrying.

Solas ignored her humor. It was not the time.

“You need to get away from here, Ellya,” he said seriously, as he swung his staff to send more spells at their enemies.

A scowl planted itself firmly on her face.

“And go where? I will not abandon these people, Solas,” she shouted over the sounds of battle, while engulfing two of Iron Bull’s attackers in flame. “They believe in this cause, in me, and running away is not how I will reward them.”

Before Solas could act, she leapt from the platform and positioned herself at Iron Bull’s side, using her staff as a physical weapon to push back their foes.

Blackwall’s battle cry echoed across the small landing, causing Solas to turn his attention to the Grey Warden. He was standing firmly against the templar captain, his sword plunged deeply through an opening in the man’s armor. Ellya and her companions let out a loud yell of victory, as the templar clutched his side and sank jerkily to the ground.

“Varric, now! The trebuchet!” Ellya shouted, as she turned back to the platform, her tone full of authority.

The dwarf hurried past Solas towards the cranking mechanism. As Varric worked, Solas kept his eyes on the horizon. The masses were still making their way down the hill. It would not be long before Haven would be completely overrun. He was running out of time.

“Fire away!”

Breaking his attention from the hundreds of torch flames flickering in the distance, Solas watched as the trebuchet launched its load. The projectile was easy to follow as it arced through the night sky and squarely hit the side of the distant mountain.

A low rumbling vibration shook the ground beneath them. In the next instant, the snow sloughed from the mountain and fell in waves over the enemy army below, snuffing out a significant portion of the advancing torches. Solas could not feel elation at the sight. It was not enough. Too many were still approaching.

“Aha! Perfect shot! Give me another one,” Varric cheered, turning to Iron Bull and Blackwall as they made to ready another round for the trebuchet.

Solas shifted his gaze to Ellya, as she climbed back up onto the platform next to him, noticing the furrow in her brow as she looked out across the valley. He placed a tentative hand on her forearm, gripping just above her mark.

“Lethallan,” he began, hoping that he could convince her, somehow, to retreat into the mountains before Corypheus arrived and all possible escape routes were forfeit.

The rest of his words were cut off, though, as a piercing shriek sounded across the valley. Solas had just enough time to leap away, dragging Ellya with him, when a gargantuan shape flew above their heads and plucked the trebuchet effortlessly from the ground.

“Shit!”

Iron Bull’s strained expletive felt extremely apt, as fire rained down around them and the burning remains of the trebuchet landed in heaps at their sides. Solas’ eyes widened. His gaze followed the shape, a corrupted dragon. It was turning with a loud screech to make another pass and engulf them in more flames.

An archdemon? That was not possible.

“Retreat! Back to the Chantry!” He heard Ellya call above the din, even as he saw the next wave of Red Templars running towards their position.

Hurriedly, Solas scrambled to his feet and followed the rest of his companions back through the outer walls and through the burning village.

Haven was becoming overrun. Even as they ran through the large gates and soldiers barred them in their wake, enemy templars were scaling the walls and quickly gaining ground at their heels.

Ellya and Iron Bull ran to the left, seemingly intent on rescuing some of Haven’s inhabitants from the burning buildings. Solas, Blackwall, and Varric spread out to the right to fend off the red lyrium-infused attackers that blocked their path.

It seemed to take ages, each turn they made through the burning village presenting new enemies, but Solas and the others eventually made it to the relative safety of the reinforced Chantry walls.

Solas barely registered the slamming of the doors behind him and could barely see the frightened masses huddling in the corners out to his front. His thoughts were too panicked. This couldn't be the end. There had to be some other way out, at least for him, some way to slip past the Red Templar forces and vanish into the night. It could not simply end with him cowering in some rundown human place of worship.

Leaning against a stone pillar, Solas glanced around, willing his mind to think, to plan. Blackwall, Varric, and the Iron Bull had been dispatched to tend to the surviving civilians and soldiers packed within the Chantry walls, leaving the entryway quiet save for the thrum of destruction beyond the barred doors. He turned his gaze towards Ellya, who was having a heated, though hushed, conversation with the commander. Leaving her behind would be regrettable, and he felt a twinge of pain at the mere thought of it. His feelings for her were murky, but he was honest enough with himself to understand that they went beyond mere companionship. Still, he could not abandon his hope for the future for the sake of selfish desire, for the sake of one woman.

Solas let his gaze slide away from Ellya, his guilt overcoming him. He needed to think of greater things, not the deluded and dream-like fantasies of burgeoning attraction. He shook his head and tried to concentrate. Perhaps if Corypheus reclaimed the anchor, he could follow him into the Fade and enact his plan as originally intended, before the explosion at Haven had disrupted the ritual. It would most certainly mean Ellya's death, though, a possibility that was becoming more and more grounded in reality. He looked up again and felt a new despair come over him. His will felt fractured under the seeming inevitability of her demise.

Swallowing hard, Solas made to turn into the shadows, to leave as undetected as possible and formulate a new plan, despite the painful wrenching in his heart.

"Yes, there is a way." The ghostly words floated to his ears, and Solas stopped in his tracks to turn towards their origination point.

Pushing his body away from the pillar, Solas moved closer to Ellya and finally noticed the figure that was crouching next to and supporting that dying Chantry buffoon, Roderick. A young boy? No, something else entirely.

Solas' eyes widened marginally, his head cocking to the side as he took a closer look at the figure.

A spirit? He could not be absolutely certain just by looking, but the familiar aura surrounding the young man was unmistakable, at least to him.

Solas moved to stand closer, his despair and desperate need to get away temporarily forgotten in his curiosity. What could a corporeal spirit be doing here, in the midst of such an attack?

"What way, Cole?" Ellya asked the spirit, causing Solas to frown. How did she know him?

Cole turned to the Chantry man, giving him a comforting gesture to invite him to speak.

"There is a secret path," Roderick said with obvious effort. Clearly, death would be upon him soon. "Through the tunnels below and around the mountain. You wouldn't know it unless you had been here, for the summer pilgrimage."

The man fell into a coughing fit, doubling over and gripping his side as trickles of blood trailed past his lips.

"If you can show us the way, we might be able to get some people out to safety," Cullen said, his brow furrowing as his looked between Roderick and the barred doors.

"It may not be enough time, though," he continued in a half-whisper, clearly trying to come up with a strategy.

"He wants me," Ellya said abruptly, causing all eyes to turn to her and a pit to form in Solas' stomach. He could guess what she was about to say, putting words and reality to his secret musings of allowing Corypheus to reclaim her mark. But knowing she was to offer it up as a formation of her own plan did not lessen the sting of pain and guilt he felt.

Cullen pulled closer to her, his words whispered into her ear in a register Solas could not make out. He simply watched as the two exchanged a long glance and a barely visible nod, before the commander turned to Roderick and Cole to help the dying man to his feet and lead him towards the tunnels of the Chantry.

As Ellya gripped her staff and reached for the Chantry door, Solas' feet moved on their own accord towards her. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Do not do this," he said, his voice coming out in an involuntary plea. "Sacrifice, though noble, is surely not the only path."

Ellya's smile was gentle but sad. She clasped her hand over his on her shoulder and brought the other around his neck before meeting his eyes with a quiet and mournful intensity.

"It’s my turn to fend off the army, and your turn for the second chance."

Her whispered words hit him right in the gut. She may have been referring to stopping someone she believed to be called The Elder One, but to him, a second chance represented so much more. And she was right.

Solas pulled back from her embrace and brought his hands to his sides in clenched fists. She would never know how important her actions were or how unique and inspiring she was to his spirit.

Taking a shaky breath, he pursed his lips and made sure to catch her eye, to burn her face into his memory. Hers was one more he never wanted to forget.

"Dareth shiral, falon," he said, feeling his heart fall at the reality of losing her and all the possibilities she offered.

Ellya simply nodded, her eyes clear and determined, and he could not help but admire her inner strength one last time.

Turning on his heel, Solas grit his teeth and prepared to do what needed to be done.

“Solas,” Ellya said quickly, grabbing his hand and bringing his attention back around to her. She had opened her mouth to say more, but remained silent. He could see her jaw working, perhaps considering what would most likely be their last words to each other. After a moment, she let a long breath out through her nose and gave him a lopsided, somber grin.

“I’m glad to have known you.”

With a final squeeze on his hand, she turned quickly to the door and, lifting the barrier briefly, stole out into the night.

Solas stared at the space where she had stood for the barest of moments, his thoughts lingering and reluctant to say goodbye. Just as quickly as her disappearance, though, he swept them aside and ran towards the back on the Chantry to make his retreat. He could not help save Ellya in that moment, not if he wanted to survive, but he could at least help save the people of the Inquisition, people and a cause that mattered to the woman he had just begun to know and care about.

Making his way quickly down the steps, Solas caught up to Iron Bull in the long hallway. The qunari was holding two stretchers occupied with wounded and dragging them along as fast as possible down the crowded corridor. His face must have given away his mood, because as soon as he saw him, Iron Bull paused and stared hard.

“Lavellan?” Bull asked quietly.

“Giving us time,” Solas answered, his tone snappish and short. “I suggest we not leave it to waste.”

Hurrying past the Ben-Hassrath, Solas pushed through the ambling crowd to the front of the procession, falling into step with Commander Cullen and the spirit Cole as they helped Roderick guide the way.

“Red, hot anger. Slowly bubbling up from the deep. Like a volcano clouded with magma and smoke. It should not have been her.”

The spirits monotone words, bringing form to his emotions startled Solas, and he felt a scowl form along his lips.

“Later,” Solas hissed. He truly did want to speak with the spirit, Cole as he called himself, but not now, not in the midst of trying to escape, and not when it was all too new.

Cole looked at him curiously but kept whatever remaining words he had to himself. Solas glanced over his head to see the Commander eyeing him, but once he met his gaze, Cullen looked away. Solas knew he understood quite clearly what had transpired, what it was like to have to choose between two equally terrible options and leave behind those you would rather save.

They marched ahead in silence, the handful of surviving mages, soldiers, and townsfolk winding their way through the tunnels and out onto the frozen path. Darkness covered them, but it seemed to be the only blessing they would receive that night, for a bitter wind whipped and swirled, biting and chilling to the bone. Moving along the barely-visible path, Solas pulled his cloak from his satchel and wrapped it tightly around his shoulders and across his face, leaving only his eyes vulnerable to the cold. It would not offer much protection if they did not find a means of shelter or camp soon, but he could not be bothered to care at the moment. He simply pressed forward, lost in his own thoughts.

As the minutes ticked by and the ground sloped higher and lead them deeper into the mountains, Solas turned to look back towards the direction of Haven. It was barely visible anymore across the valley, and only his keen elven eyes allowed him to make out the dots of flame from the Red Templar forces and the fires that raged through the destroyed buildings. Survivors and soldiers edged past him, as he stared at the smudges of smoke rising from the remnants of the burning village. Varric and Blackwall shared sad glances with him as they passed, but others, Dorian and Iron Bull, could barely lift their eyes from the ground as they walked on. Solas could not fault their dysphoria, its keen edge seeped little by little into his own spirit, as much as he wished to remain unaffected.

A faint burst of light flashed across the corner of his vision. Glancing back towards Haven, Solas felt his heart sink ever further as the low rumble of an explosion finally reached the far edge of the mountain and sounded in his ears.

There was no hope now. Ellya was lost, one more death to add to the weight of his heart and burden of his guilt.

“Solas.”

Cassandra’s sad voice broke him from his thoughts and tore his gaze away from the distant desolation.

“We have found a safe place to camp,” she informed him.

Solas watched as the seeker stared out across the night, her face softening into a forlorn expression.

“She did her part. We must now do ours,” she said in a steely whisper and turned to him, once more guarded and determined. “Mother Giselle could use your aid with the wounded.”

Solas nodded. It was the least he could do for Ellya, while he tried to formulate a plan as to where to go next.

“Of course,” he said and made his way over the side of the mountain and walked into the partial clearing below.

People were milling about. Those able enough were setting up tents and starting fires sheltered from view by the jagged peaks of the mountainside. It was not an ideal location, as exposed to the harsh elements of the high elevation as it was, but it would do for now. People were exhausted and scared. A little rest and a chance to regroup would be best for all.

It did not take long for Solas to find Mother Giselle and her makeshift infirmary. Applying bandages and poultices on the more minor of wounds, he did what he could for the survivors, but many were too far gone with smoke in their lungs or burns seared across their skin. Corypheus had done well with his attack. The Inquisition had been ill-prepared, and its numbers had suffered the consequences.

Hours later, Solas cleaned his hands in the snow to rid them of soot and blood and made his way to the shadowed edges of the encampment, intent on solitude as a means to clear his jumbled thoughts. He swallowed his emotions as he had done for centuries to think of the greater picture. With Ellya gone, and the anchor now presumably back in Corypheus' possession, he needed to weigh his options. Staying with the Inquisition could still offer a comfortable means to his ends, for he did not believe Cassandra or the other inner council would so readily give up their cause with the death of their Herald. However, now that Corypheus had his orb complete once more, there was no telling when he would find an appropriate sacrifice and place for the ritual in order to enter the Fade.

Solas crouched and settled against the snowbank, not caring or noticing when the chill began to seep through his clothes. Wiping a hand across his forehead, he tried not to think of Ellya. It should not have been her to pay for his mistakes. Centuries of slumber and the world was still cruel to those who dared hope for a better future.

"Green eyes. Strong. Determined. They disappear behind the door and extinguish the potential. So much life is gone."

Solas barely moved at the intrusion, as used as he was to the nature of spirits. He felt Cole materialize next to him.

"Another dream twisted by consequence. She could have been more. You wanted her to be more."

Solas turned to the spirit, his eyes sorrowful, and scrutinized the being before him.

"I assume you were not brought forcibly into this world, Cole,” he said as a means of distraction. “So many are, but you seem to have come of your own volition. I wonder at your purpose,” he mused quietly, ignoring the painful impact of Cole's insightful words.

"I want to help," Cole answered.

Ah, a spirit of compassion perhaps then. It would be fascinating to learn how or why it decided to cross the Veil, but now was not the time. Solas simply nodded and looked back out across the night, his usually inquisitive nature quieted by the evening’s events.

"An admirable desire," he said. "Walk among the Inquisition, and you will find no shortage of those in pain."

Cole shifted and stared down at him, a confused expression on his face.

"But your pain. The thousands you think of. And her."

Meeting the spirit's gaze, Solas gave him a sad smile and shook his head.

"Please, leave it be," he said and looked away. "Others would benefit from your aid far more than I in this moment."

It took only a fraction of a second, but Solas felt the moment Cole disappeared, a slow eking away in the swirl of magic around him, as barely recognizable as the shifting of a shadow in a reflection.

The hours passed without notice from then on, too far gone in his thoughts as Solas was. The night wrapped deeply around him and the noises of the camp and its inhabitants shuffling became nothing more than the static of buzzing bees at his periphery. None of it mattered. His choices weighed too heavily.

"Solas." Blackwall's voice and his hand laid firmly on his shoulder brought Solas out of his thoughts and back to the present. His brow furrowed at the Grey Warden's urgent tone.

"Better come quick," Blackwall hurried on. "She's in a bad state."

Solas frowned and stood. Who? It was only then that he took note of the increased commotion in the camp. The blackness of night was still thick and the wind and snow continued its relentless swirling, but a crowd had gathered next to one of the tents.

Following Blackwall, Solas trudged through the snow in confusion and curiosity. Perhaps Josephine or Cassandra or even Leliana had been concealing an injury that only now was coming to light. That would be yet another blow against the Inquisition's current position. As he pushed his way through the crowd and through the tent flap, he realized how wrong and unprepared his thoughts had been.

Ellya.

Solas stood stock still in the entrance to the tent, too shocked to take another step forward. It did not seem possible that she could be there, as certain as he had been of her demise in her insistence on sacrifice. Yet, there she was before his eyes, lying unconscious on a makeshift cot, a pile of warm blankets atop her body and shielding all but her face from view. Cullen and Cassandra, both dirt-smudged and looking exhausted, looked up at his arrival.

"Solas, thank the Maker he found you." Cassandra's words snapped his attention to her, breaking his shock and allowing his feet to move him fully into the tent and to Ellya's side.

"She is alive?" Solas asked in astonishment, kneeling down to pull back the blankets that covered Ellya's prone form and assess her condition. He now assumed his healing abilities were why Cassandra had sent Blackwall to fetch him.

"Yes," Cullen started, clearly equally as amazed, "a few soldiers and I found her wandering in the blizzard. She collapsed when she saw us. I had to carry her back."

The commander shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

"I can't even begin to imagine how she survived," he continued in a low tone, full of disbelief.

"Another sign of the Maker's will," Cassandra said. "Andraste must be granting her favor so that we can complete our task."

Solas ignored their words. However Ellya had survived, she had not done it without harm. He stroked his hand gently over her arm and clenched his jaw at the sight of her injuries: a severely dislocated shoulder and the beginnings of long bands of bruises in the shape of a large handprint across her forearm, not to mention the cuts and bruises he could see peeking out of the top of her robes and the hypothermia she must have suffered from her escape through the cold. He closed his eyes and reached out with his magic to try to sense the wounds he could not immediately see.

Pulling the blanket back over her form, Solas stood.

"I will need to set her arm and apply some poultices to her wounds, but the damage is not too great," he said in relief. "And her mark is still intact. She should awaken.”

Cassandra and Cullen both nodded, obviously relieved, despite the circumstances.

"We will inform the others while you work," Cassandra said and backed through the opening in the tent, her whole demeanor rejuvenated with Ellya’s safe return.

Cullen lowered his head in thanks and gave Ellya a long look before exiting the tent himself.

Now alone, Solas turned his gaze back to the elven woman he was so sure he had lost only hours before. He knelt down slowly at her side once more, still somewhat in shock at her emergence from what he had believed to be certain death, and allowed himself to run his fingers across her brow, sweeping a few stray strands of hair away from her face.

Second chances. She had offered him that, and now? Solas closed his eyes and leaned forward until his forehead brushed lightly against her hand that peeked out from the side of the blankets. Perhaps second chances meant so much more. If he too was some pawn to a greater power, then he would not waste the opportunity.

The attraction and blossoming feelings that existed between them, he would no longer attempt to deny. He had failed the Inquisition, failed her, in not foreseeing Corypheus attack and not adequately preparing them. Had almost lost her, another death to add to his conscious, due to his poor decisions.

Solas pulled back and laced his fingers with hers, as he gazed at her face. He could not tell her everything, the risk was too great, but perhaps he could tell her enough. The desire to do better, to protect and aid her, in addition to his own plans, overcame him. Yes, a more proactive approach, more sharing of his knowledge. He would tell her about the orb, about Corypheus, and perhaps even lead her to Tarasyl’an Te’las. She, the Inquisition, all of them, needed his knowledge if they wanted to succeed. And now, more than ever, he wanted, needed, them to succeed as well.

With his resolve hardened and his plan laid out before him, the decision was clear. Haven, and what he had almost lost in its destruction, could never happen again.

Solas moved to start working on her arm. The night was still long, but he needed to see her well. Once she awoke, there would be much to discuss.


	4. Display

Solas let an amused grin spread across his face as he watched the scene in front of him. Vivienne, Dorian, and Josephine were desperately trying to help Ellya select a gown for the royal Orlesian ball in two nights hence. Ellya, for her part, was shaking her head at every dress they held up, her lips pursed in frustration.

She was embarrassed, he could tell. The Dalish did not have much in the way of finery, save for a wedding dress here or there, and certainly had no use for anything that would be deemed suitable for an Orlesian formal.

"Absolutely not, Josephine," the petite elven woman’s words washed over him as he let his eyes scan the mounds and racks of gowns in every color and fabric imaginable.

"Inquisitor, you must choose something. You cannot go in those dingy old robes. You will be laughed out of the city before we even reach the gate." That was Vivienne. His eyes narrowed at her tone, but he said nothing. Ellya could handle her well enough on her own.

"Yes, we wouldn’t want that," Ellya said, her voice laced with sarcasm before it took on an exasperated and defeated edge. "Look, I don’t want to disappoint the Inquisition, but neither do I want to look like anyone other than myself, and these rich dresses just aren’t me."

Solas walked towards the racks of clothes, letting whatever Vivienne or Dorian were saying about style pass unnoticed by his ears. Reaching out, he fingered the edges of an emerald green silk gown.

"This one," he said, letting his voice carry to his friends.

Looking up, he turned to see four sets of eyes staring at him silently. His brow furrowed in confusion until he looked down at himself, the frayed edges of his tunic standing out like a blazing beacon for his own sense of fashion. Oh. Right. He suppressed a smirk. If only they knew just how familiar he was with courtly proceedings.

Ellya walked over to him, curiosity filling her features. Giving him a small smile, she reached out and traced her fingers across the gold embroidery and fresh water pearls sewn into the bodice of the gown he had chosen.

"It’s beautiful," she said, turning her head to look at him. "Why this one?"

Solas pulled the dress out of its wrapping to display it fully to her.

"It reminds me of the style worn by the elves of Arlathan. The cut is not the exact same as those I have seen in memories of the Fade, but it is similar enough. You would present a striking picture, one of the Elvhen walking those stolen halls in reclaim of your birthright, even if it is only for one night."

Ellya had bitten her bottom lip at his words, a proud and adoring smile working its way out from between her teeth.

Solas looked away shyly.

"And your complexion would look beautiful against the color," he said quietly, meaning the words only for her ears, even though he knew the other three in the room could hear.

Ellya brought the gown to her body in an appraising glance before looking to him with a knowing grin.

"Thank you, Solas," she said and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on his lips. He felt his cheeks color at such a public display of their affection for each other, but he still pulled her closer to deepen the kiss slightly.

They pulled back after a moment, small smiles on both of their faces.

"I’ll go try it on," Ellya whispered and draped the gown over her arm before heading towards the stairs to her room.

Solas watched her go. When she disappeared behind the solid wooden door, he turned back to the mounds of clothes and his other companions. His eyes narrowed at Dorian’s smirk and Vivienne’s quirked eyebrow. Josephine just giggled and returned to scribbling something across the parchment in her hand, only pretending to work he was sure.

"Not one word," Solas warned, specifically eyeing Dorian, his fellow mage seemingly barely able to contain his mirth at his and Ellya’s display.

"Who me? I wouldn’t dream of it!"


	5. Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellya and Sera discuss favorite colors.

“So, Inquisitor, what’s your favorite color?”

Ellya looked over her shoulder as Sera sauntered up to her.

“My favorite color?” she asked in confusion. The road to Redcliffe was long, but surely there were better topics for conversation than color.

“Yeah,” Sera pressed, looking at her like she had said something incredibly stupid.

Ellya chuckled lightly and slowed down her pace. All right, if the small questions were what allowed her to get to know the eccentric young elf better, then she supposed she would play along.

“All right, Sera,” she began, “if you must know, it’s green.”

Throwing her hands up in the air, Sera let out a disgusted scoff.

“See, there you go again,” she said, causing Ellya to stop walking. “Of course it’s green. Plants. Trees, Nature, Nature, Nature. Pppfffft.”

Ellya just rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Then, what’s your favorite color, Sera?” she asked, giving her a pointed look. She would not rise to her ‘elfy’ bait over something so small.

“Gray,” Sera said almost immediately.

Ellya turned to look at her fully then, her brow furrowed in thought.

“Gray?” she asked, wondering at the possible reason for such an unconventional choice.

Sera just looked at her out of the corner of her eye and grinned.

“Yeah! The color of qunari tits!”


	6. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas has a surprise for Ellya.

Ellya put her feet in front of her slowly and carefully, feeling the grit of the stone against her toes as she walked. She was trying her best to trust Solas and keep her eyes closed, but she couldn’t help feeling like she was about to fall flat on her face, despite his firm grip on her waist and hand.

"Where are you taking me? It’s getting darker," she said, curiously. They were still in Skyhold, she could tell, but they had taken too many steps and gone down too many flights of stairs for her to be certain of their exact location.

"I believe telling you would negate the concept of a surprise, vhenan," Solas said with a light chuckle, holding her hand tighter and leading her on.

Ellya rolled her eyes behind her closed lids, but still, she smiled. Whatever it was he wanted to show her, he was excited. Nervous too maybe, but excited.

After a few more moments of walking, Solas stopped and held her still. 

"Wait here," he whispered and let go. She could hear his footsteps moving away, but not far. As he seemed to circle her, small, warm tufts of light formed and flickered against her lids.

"You may look around."

Ellya opened her eyes and gasped. They were in a small, circular room, somewhere deep in the castle and probably not far from the library. However, it was not just a room anymore. The stone floors were covered with warm fur rugs and topped with multiple wooden ottomans and settees. They were all lined with soft down pillows and woven blankets and carved with scenes from elven lore.

The comfortable and inviting warmth of the center of the room was not what drew her gaze most, though, as beautifully lit as it was with the magical fire he had produced. Instead, she could not tear her eyes from the paint on the walls.

Everywhere she looked contained scenes from a beautiful spring forest. Trees and flowers were painted in full bloom. Animals were hiding beneath the foliage, and birds were nestled neatly within high branches. Insects, too, were present, shown in mid flight through the air, as if weaving past golden flecks of pollen that fluttered along the breeze.

"I know you have been longing for the comforts of familiarity amidst all this snow. I hope it is not too far from what you imagine when you think of home."

Solas’ soft words filled her ears as she gaped at the mural. It was amazing and perfect and the words could not work their way out of her throat to express her gratitude to him for such a gesture.

Stepping forward with mouth open, she reached out to touch the murals on the wall but held her hand back. She did not want to risk a single smudge.

"Solas, it’s beautiful," she whispered, awestruck that he had thought to do something so generous and heartfelt for her.

"I am pleased you think so," he said as he made his way to her, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and looking at her with a gentle smile. "They are not yet finished."

Ellya waved her hand dismissively.

"That’s okay," she said hurriedly, "I know we spend a lot of time on the road. I think they’re perfect as they are."

Solas’ smile deepened at her words and he drew close.

"No, vhenan," he said, his tone playful, "it was by design. I had hoped we could finish them together."

Ellya turned her body fully to him, her brows raising in surprise.

"But I’ll ruin it!" she insisted. She had never even picked up a paintbrush before, let alone tried her hand at such a large and intricate work.

Solas just chuckled and pulled her close.

"On the contrary, I find your touch to be only a positive addition." 

One by one, he kissed the tips of her fingers before twining them with his own.

"However, I will teach you if you would like."

There it was. The ‘I love you’ that he hadn’t yet said aloud, but conveyed with his every action. Ellya bit her lip and grinned, not even trying to hide her blush or the absolute pleasure his words brought her.

"Yes," she said with a beaming smile, hoping that she conveyed her own blossoming love right back, "I would like that very much."


	7. Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellya and Solas argue about Cole. (Intimacy prompt challenge from tumblr - 'an argument')

"May I have a word, Inquisitor?"

Ellya tore her eyes from Cole’s face to glare at Solas. His tone was anything but friendly at the moment.

"Yes," she responded tersely. "I think that’s a good idea."

They walked briskly to a large tree across the courtyard, far enough away from Varric and Cole so as not to be overheard, hopefully.

Solas rounded on her when they reached the sanctuary of the tree’s shade, his voice a heated whisper.

"You cannot be serious in your advice. Cole is a spirit. It is not wise to encourage him otherwise."

Narrowing her eyes, Ellya crossed her arms over her chest and stiffened her posture. They had been together long enough that she would not back down and be intimidated by any sort of challenge he threw her way.

"You have often spoken of spirits as people," she said. "Why is it so different now? Should he not be allowed to choose his own path in how he deals with this?"

Solas sighed, an obvious sign of his frustration.

"Choice denotes knowledge," he countered. "He is not aware enough to make an informed decision."

"And you are?" Ellya scoffed. She was just about fed up with his arrogance in that moment.

Pursing his lips, Solas glanced back over her shoulder towards Cole and Varric before looking her straight in the eyes.

"I know more than most about such matters, yes," he said carefully.

Ellya grunted and threw her hands up in the air. Taking a step towards him, she did her best to keep her voice level and quiet.

"And you would make that decision for him?" she asked, exasperation filling her tone. "Force him to conform to your idea of what he should be?"

"He is what he is," Solas said, one hand drawing up to gesture towards Cole. "Wishing otherwise does not change it. He was fashioned a spirit of compassion. He should not twist that to chase the plagued memories of a man long-dead."

Ellya put her hands on her hips.

"For someone who speaks so openly against the qun, you sound an awful lot like those mind washers that Bull speaks about!" she accused.

That got Solas’ attention. His eyes narrowed and his features went taut. Ellya wasn’t sure she meant the words, but they were out all the same.

"That equivalency is false," he said, obviously trying to keep his anger in check.

"Is it?" Ellya asked. She was too heated to stop the road the argument had taken.

Solas took a half step towards her and leaned forward, a look of disgust across his face.

"Do not confuse my desire for Cole’s happiness and full realization of his potential with the repulsive tactics of the Qun," he said, barely above a whisper.

Taking a deep breath, Ellya tried to calm her nerves. It would not do to have a shouting match in the courtyard for all to see, including Cole, but she could not get past her anger about the subject. She cared about Cole, including his eccentricities, and did not want him manipulated down a path not of his own choosing.

"You cannot speak of him as a whole being and then treat him like an infirmed child, knowing what’s best for him at every turn," she said, once again throwing her hands in the air and taking a few steps away from Solas, hoping that some physical distance would cool her head. "If he wants to deal with this in the human fashion, then he can make that choice, with all the wonderful and horrible things that come with it. If not, then he can live fully as a spirit. Surely, he has seen enough of how people live to know what he wants."

Solas clenched his fists, obviously reaching the limits of his patience.

"And you would let him make that decision by twisting his very nature?" he asked. "A spirit of compassion lead to a vengeful act of murder? I would not have thought you to be supportive of such needless violence."

That made Ellya pause. No, she would not want Cole to kill the Templar. Murdering that man in cold blood was not the answer, however Cole wanted to process his hurt.

Solas’ face softened. Taking the two steps to get to her side, he placed a tentative hand on her forearm.

"Vhenan," he said gently, "you stayed my hand when it begged me to deliver a sentence of death. Do you not also think Cole deserves counsel? Surely he would regret taking a life for such personal and rage-filled reasons?"

Ellya nodded and clasped her hand over his before giving it a slight squeeze and letting go.

"No, you’re right," she said and looked back over to Varric and Cole. "However, I still believe that he should be allowed to embrace a more human path if that is his choice."

Solas took a deep breath through his nose and stared silently across the courtyard for a few, brief moments.

"It seems an argument in this matter is futile," he said finally and obviously reluctantly. "I will concede that whatever Cole decides shall be his own. I will offer what advice I can, but will endeavor to support him in either choice he makes."

Rolling her shoulders and trying to let the last of her frustration and anger seep away, Ellya swallowed.

"So shall I," she said with determination.

Ellya made to take a step back towards the waiting pair, but paused. She and Solas had had their fair share of arguments through their time together, for they both understood the others’ passionate beliefs, but she still did not wish to remain angry with him for long. They did not have to resort to childish grudges over a difference of opinion. Reaching out, she lightly stroked her pinky finger against his thumb.

Solas looked down at the slight contact of their hands, his face clearly showing his shock. Hesitantly, the corner of his mouth turned up into an unsure smile.

Feeling the last of her ire die away, Ellya gave him a warm look and squeezed his hand before making to return to Cole. She was sure they would discuss the matter more thoroughly later, and no doubt would have more arguments in the future, but even if the small smile was just a slight gesture, it was enough for now. They would be fine.


	8. One Hundred and Thirty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellya and Solas travel to the Free Marches to honor Clan Lavellan. (Warning: Deals with the death of Clan Lavellan. Answer to another intimacy prompt challenge from tumblr: slow-dancing).

One hundred and thirty-six fresh mounds of dirt, each lovingly tilled and piled high. 

One hundred and thirty-six seedlings, carefully chosen for their hardiness and ability to grow and to last.

One hundred and thirty-six graves. That was all Ellya could see. One mound supporting one seedling for each member of Clan Lavellan. All dead.

Kneeling in the dirt before the final grave, Ellya stared down at her hands. The dirt and mud that was smeared across the surface and into the small lines and crevices of her nails might as well have been blood. It was her fault, her choices that had lead to this. She was supposed to be their First, someone meant to guide and protect, yet every last member of her clan from the smallest babe to the eldest and wisest hahren was gone. Murdered. Her advisors had given her the options, she had simply chosen poorly and had failed her family.

It did not assuage her guilt, but Ellya had needed to do this, to come to her last known home and honor them in the only way she knew how. It was her responsibility to make sure that their lives were remembered in the Dalish tradition. So, she had returned home, to the Free Marches, to find the familiar grounds and plant the trees.

Ellya inhaled against the clenching pain in her chest and stared out across the clearing, now peppered with abundant new life. One day it would be a beautiful grove, a place of vibrancy and growth, where wildlife and flora could thrive among the boughs in the same way she had among the clan’s love.

Wiping her hands together, Ellya settled back against her heels but could not bring herself to stand and walk away. She wasn’t ready to let go. 

The sound of a throat clearing reached her from her left. Solas. She turned to him with a gentle smile, fearful that if she let it slip from her lips, it would never appear again.

Solas was leaning against one of the larger trees that circled the clearing, his eyes traveling slowly from her to the mass memorial before them and his every feature traced in sorrow.

The others were nearby, Ellya knew. Varric, Cassandra, and Dorian had not wanted to be more than a day’s journey away, but she had only permitted Solas to help her in her task. Partly, she did not feel right about anyone but an elf bearing witness and participating in such a solemn act, but mainly she could not stand the thought of her companions being in her presence should she break completely and cry.

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan," Solas said quietly.

Nodding automatically, Ellya was only peripherally aware of his words. She had received too many condolences lately, and none did anything to soothe the ache in her heart. It was like a limb had been severed. It was painful and permanent, and nothing could replace it in form or function. Even if she could find some means to pretend to be whole again, she would never be the same.

Twilight had started to descend onto the clearing, the light filtering through the canopy and setting the small mounds aglow with passing and sparkling drops of golden sunlight. It reminded Ellya of happier times.

"We used to have dances this time of year," she said abruptly, not intending to speak her memories aloud.

Solas said nothing, but made his way to stand closer to her.

"When the light is just right, it leaves patterns on the earth, like those." She pointed to the speckles fluttering across the ground in time with the sway of the trees. "We called it vhenera’alas sulahn’nehn."

"Your joyful dreaming earth." Solas said softly in translation, his smile one of fondness for the term.

"Yes, we would paint designs on the halla in imitation," she continued, closing her eyes to grasp at the blurry memory, "and the children would string wooden beads and shards of colored glass in the trees, hoping to get the light to catch and form a rainbow."

Ellya squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, wanting nothing more than to dive into the memory and wish it back to reality.

"I used to help Master Senarel make the honeyed treats. They were the prizes for whoever created a rainbow first. Or spun the best tale. And even for whoever best painted the halla." She could almost taste the sweetness against her tongue as she thought of mixing the batter. "Fenlan always tried to steal some. Long fully grown and still as giddy and mischievous as the most impish da’len." 

Ellya made to laugh at the image, but the sound caught in her throat, coming out a strangled sob instead. 

Fenlan was gone. She would never again swat his hand away from her work or pretend not to notice when he snuck some when her back was turned. She would never again so much as look at his face, or Master Senarel’s, or Keeper Deshanna’s. She would never again hear the sound of the children’s laughter as they climbed higher in the trees, each racing for the best ray of light to catch the rainbow and win the prize.

Her shock melting away and reality dawning, the pain and hurt gripped her, all-consuming and suffocating in its intensity. Ellya opened her eyes against the wave of emotion and desperately tried to keep herself from drowning as the tears stung against her vision. It was too much. She could not walk this life knowing they were forever and so brutally gone from it.

"Let us honor them."

Solas’ soft and soothing voice broke through her grief-stricken panic. Turning, she lifted her tear-filled gaze to his outstretched hand.

Slowly, she placed her hand in his and let him pull her from the ground. Ellya was unsure of his intent at first, but as his arm wrapped around her waist and his fingers curled around her hand, she knew. 

Clan Lavellan would have one last dance.

Resting her head against his shoulder, she let him sway her gently back and forth. Her tears could no longer be held back when she heard him begin to sing.

It was the elven dirge, low and mourning. The words were not exactly the same as the version she knew, but they were beautiful and appropriate all the same, sung in his melodic voice.

_Vir sulahn’nehn (We sing, rejoice)_

_Vir dirthera (We tell the tale)_

_Vir samahl la numin (We laugh and cry)_

_Vir lath sa’vunin (We love one more day)_

She gripped harder to his tunic and the tears came more freely.

Solas’ voice washed over her, low and calm, taking with it the barest edge of her pain and sorrow. As they slowly twirled in a circle, she clung to him, her love, and let her eyes take in the forest around her. She wanted to remember every sight, every smell, and take with her the memory of her journey with her family, even their bitter end. She had failed them in their death, but with her life she could make amends.

As she danced their eulogy among them, she knew one thing was for certain.

One hundred and thirty-six graves. She would not forget.


End file.
